


Tools

by LittleTortillaDaddy



Series: Here in My Heart [4]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Light Angst, Nice Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 15:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11558412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleTortillaDaddy/pseuds/LittleTortillaDaddy
Summary: Lobelia helps Dís to discover where her talents fit into the Shire.





	Tools

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I neither own 'The Hobbit' nor am I profiting off this.

Lobelia marches up to the smial, swinging her arms. Beneath her crooked hat, her cheeks are flushed pink. Sweat shimmers on her brow. Dís shoves her hands deeper into the moist soil, ignoring the ache of her knees. Beads of sweat crawl down her back and stomach, darkening her clothing. 

“What are you doing?” Lobelia huffs, adjusting her hat, “Rumors are spreading that Hamfast is neglecting the garden due to its state, but you’re the one harming it.” 

Dís cranes her neck, searching for the supposed gossipers. She continues huffing and puffing, dabbing her wet forehead with a handkerchief. 

“Dwarves are meant for stones,” she stands slowly, legs tingling, “Bilbo wanted to see whether I could care for her flowers.” 

Lobelia murmurs something under her breath, shaking her head. “Come, I left a lunch early to see whether the rumors are true. We can discuss other talents over food.”

\- 

Lobelia polishes off two full plates without any fuss. Relieved, she dabs at her mouth, threading her fingers over her plump stomach. Dís sits across from her, drawing patterns into the tabletop. 

“Does the Shire hold a forge? Does anyone have need for a forge? I am not as capable as my brothers, but I am talented enough.”

“Are you capable of building things? Families need smial expansions while newlyweds are looking to begin theirs. However, we need someone knowledgeable about digging and foundation.” 

Dís hesitates; her knowledge is nothing comparable to that of the miners. A miner knows where the mountain begins – capable of hearing the heartbeat and tracing their veins. Their souls are intertwined together. She is part of the mountain, though it never embraces her like the miners. 

“I hardly share the same knowledge as a miner would,” she murmurs, “I cannot hope to achieve their level of knowledge. However, should I be given the tools I can do the work.” 

“Ask Bilbo for the appropriate tools – she should be able to provide, but wait until the children are asleep. Where is she right now?” 

“Bilbo is having lunch with her cousin. She left shortly before the boys began napping.” 

Lobelia purses her lips. “She should return happily, but approach the subject gently.” 

-

She waits until the supper dishes are clean. She listens to the gurgles and chatter from the boys slip into even breathing and snores. Bilbo settles down with her pipe, giving the occasional chuckle as she recounts her garden story. 

“I might be unable to care for flowers, but I am capable of building things. I’ve enough knowledge about foundations and digging to complete smial expansions and building them. I would need the proper tools, though.” 

Bilbo blows a smoke ring. The silence stretches, threatening to become uncomfortable until she begins chewing on her pipe. 

“I understand the desire to feel useful. I understand the desire to contribute. I understand the desire to become closer to the community. I must ask that you understand the significance behind these tools; handle them with the same care we demonstrate towards the boys.” 

Dís keeps a distance as she opens the glory box. The glory box: an untouchable treasure trove to her children, which must hide vast riches. The vast riches: a wedding dress; silverware; dried flowers; books whose pages are beginning to yellow with age and a set of tools. Bilbo takes a moment to look over her riches. 

“My father built Bag End as a wedding gift for my mother. As a fauntling, my bedtime stories were about their courting and labor which went into crafting our smial. As I grew older, he allowed me to examine the tools. I learned their uses and began to hold them. I was supposed to learn how to use them, but…” 

Ignoring the ache of her knees, she crouches beside her. Bilbo leans into her, though she remains stiff. 

“You have full allowance to use the tools. I must ask that you understand the significance behind these tools; handle them with the same care we demonstrate towards the boys.”

Linking their fingers together, she stands, pulling Bilbo up slowly. “I understand; do you still wish to learn?” 

“Could we discuss it another time? I need some more Old Toby.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> I have returned to the series, though I originally decided to abandon it over a year ago. The co-author is simply my other account where I am way more active. 
> 
> Thank a bout of creative depression for this series return.


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